


Bludger Practice

by mamashitty



Series: Quidditch Haus [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Flying, M/M, Pining, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-05-20 19:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19383118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamashitty/pseuds/mamashitty
Summary: Bitty panics each time a Bludger flies in his direction. This is a problem because he freezes up on the broom when it happens. He has almost fallen from his broom a few times. He can't finish games like this, and the coaches are benching him. Jack drags him to the Quidditch Pitch in the mornings for bludger practice, to help him hopefully, get over his fears.And it is great because who doesn't want to wake up early and get balls thrown at him by Jack Zimmermann?There will be a few chapters of this. I have plans, probably, maybe. And pining. And maybe a little more than pining.





	1. First Practice

Bitty shivered, and he had no idea if he was shivering solely because it was a chilly morning or if some of it had to do with his nerves. The sun was barely up, and the grass was wet with dew. He wanted a coffee and regretted not making any for the trek to the Quidditch pitch. Jack had walked with him in silence. Bitty too tired, still struggling to shrug that sleep off, to care to fill the silence with babbling. He kept remembering how comfortable his bed was, and how much he wished he could be back in it. Underneath his warm comforter, snuggled up close with Senor Bun. He watched as Jack opened the large duffel bag he had brought with him, and removed a few large No-Maj dodge balls.

“We will practice with these first,” Jack explained, holding one of the balls easily in his rather large hand.

“I am having flashbacks to elementary school,” Bitty replied, dryly. “Mama insisted that I attend No-Maj school before going to Ilvermorny, and Coach agreed. We played dodge ball a few times in gym. It was never very much fun for me,” and Bitty is aware that he is rambling but he can’t stop himself. Jack looks almost amused, but maybe it is a trick of the early morning light.

“Papa and Maman insisted on me going to Muggle school too,” Jack said, as he lazily tossed the ball in his hand up and then caught it. “We are going to have you get used to getting hit with these before we move onto the Bludgers.”

Bitty had been on the verge of teasing Jack about using the term Muggle, even though he objectively thought it sounded better than No-Maj. Or, at the very least, it was more fun to say. It just sounded funny coming from someone like Jack. So stiff and serious a lot of the time. But… the urge to tease was swallowed by the realization he was going to be hit with those dodge balls, and eventually, a bludger. Though he was experiencing minor flashbacks to his elementary school days, he knew that the dodge balls would not be painful in the way a big iron ball would be. His mouth felt suddenly dry and his palms sweaty, the broom in his left hand felt heavier than usual.

“Eric,” Jack said, and his voice sounded farther away than it was. Bitty shook his head and tried to squash the budding panic down. Jack was watching him with an expression that Bitty had a difficult time reading. “Are you ready?” He asked.

No, was what Bitty wanted to say, but he stopped himself. He knew he needed to do this. The coaches were benching him for games and practices weren’t much better. If Bitty really wanted to be able to play Quidditch then he needed to get over this… this thing of his. And they were starting with rubber balls. He could do this. He had to.

“Yes,” but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth as he said that.

“Mount your broom, but don’t fly too high. We’ll start low. I’ll be on the ground for now, and we’ll work our way up.” Jack said, removing his wand from his jacket. He pointed it at the dodge balls, murmuring a spell that Bitty had never heard of before.

Bitty also realized he was staring at Jack and prolonging the inevitable. He licked his lips and wiped his hands on his sweat pants, before mounting his broom. His broom seemed to hum underneath him, a comforting feeling. He pushed up with ease and had to remind himself to not soar into the sky. He loved flying—there was nothing more freeing than being high up in the air—the wind in his hair. He hovered a few feet off the ground, waiting for Jack to release the balls. A second or two of waiting, and he was hit with one of the balls. It startled him more than hurt, but he kept a firm grip on his broom, and though his heart raced at the contact, he did not feel that overarching panic. He did not feel frozen on his broom. He flew away from the balls, flying just a little higher, and the balls tracked him. He got hit, again and again.

Time passed and Bitty found himself flying, higher and higher. He let those big rubbery balls hit him on occasion, and then he also dodged them. Doing loop-de-loops with his broom that Jack did not seem to mind. At some point, Jack took to the air too. And they both took turns dodging the balls that seemed to have minds of their own now, with whatever spell Jack had cast on them. It was exhausting and Bitty knew he would have bruises, but… he felt _good_. The thought of being hit scared him less, it did not make him freeze up on his broom. He tried not to let his mind think about the fact that, eventually, Jack would suggest they use actual Bludgers, because when he did, he felt the start of panic again, he felt his arms tense, and that comfortable feeling of being up in the air, of being on his broom, seemed to want to go away. He clung to the good feelings and squashed those thoughts down.

Jack whipped a dodgeball at Bitty’s face, and Bitty let out a yelp as he just barely dodged it. Jack laughed and flew away from him. Bitty found himself wishing he had caught the ball like a Quaffle so he could whip it back at Jack’s stupidly handsome face. Which was a fact he often forced himself to forget. Or tried to forget, at any rate.

Eventually, the dodge balls lost whatever magic Jack had placed on them, and they fell lifelessly to the ground. Bitty was not quite ready to land, and neither was Jack. Wordlessly, they flew around the pitch. Bitty, pushing his broom to fly faster and faster. He did flips in mid-air, flew between the Keeper posts. He flew upside for a moment, exhilarating at the rush of blood to his head, and how his muscles screamed at him for that, before he righted himself back up. Jack had stopped flying, he was just hovering in the air a few feet away, watching Bitty. Bitty could feel his cheeks burning, and he hoped that Jack would just assume they were red from the wind. The look on Jack’s face… it caused Bitty’s stomach to squirm. And it was a fleeting look because Jack noticed Bitty watching him, and he flew down towards the ground.

Bludger practice was over and Bitty was realizing he had to get ready for classes, most likely. He flew towards the ground as well, landing with a dull thud. He watched as Jack packed up his duffel bag. Bitty shifted from foot to foot, willing the adrenaline that always coursed through his body during and after flying, to go away.

“We’ll do this again tomorrow morning,” Jack said, and Bitty nodded his head.

“Okay, but does it have to be so early?” Bitty asked, half-jokingly but also, honestly, half seriously because lord had Jack woken him up so damn early today.

“Same time, Bittle,” Jack said, his lips twitching just slightly that Bitty figured he was more amused than annoyed at the question. “And, you did good today, Eric. We need to build on this momentum.”

Jack Zimmermann had complimented him. Bitty felt warm and happy and proud of himself. He was sure he was grinning like a fool too, but there was no stopping it. He had done well. The grin faltered though, and he wondered if tomorrow, there would be bludgers or not. He suppressed a shudder. Jack was watching him again, and Bitty did his best to plaster a smile on his face. Look, he was fine. No need to worry.

“Are you going back to the Haus, Jack?” Bitty asked, wondering if they would walk back together.

“No, I have somethings I need to take care of. I’ll see you around, Eric.” Jack slung the duffel over his shoulder, scooped up his broom, and walked in the opposite direction of the Haus. Bitty watched him, and he realized he had forgotten to say goodbye in return. He waved, not like Jack had eyes behind his head to see it, but waving made him feel a little less rude about it. It was not like Bitty had got distracted by the sight of Jack’s behind as he walked away.

Bitty sighed, picking up his own broom. He glanced at his watch, and there was still time for him to get back to the Haus and get his books for class. There was also time for one or two more laps around the pitch, if he hurried. He mounted his broom and flew.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then Jack joined his first Quidditch team. Everyone insisted that he play Beater, just like his Papa. And Jack wanted to at first, and he did pretty good at it. But flying fast and catching the Quaffle, dodging the Bludgers, weaving between the other players, and trying to score looked a lot more fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shot at Bludger practice.

Jack adjusted his grip on the Beater’s bat. It had been a long time since he had used one of these bats. Everyone told him he had Beater’s body and didn’t he want to take after Bad Bob Zimmermann, take after his father? The answer was a complicated yes and no. Jack loved Quidditch, the sport was in his blood. He never quite felt comfortable in his own skin until he was up in the air on his broomstick (it was an older model Firebolt—Jack could easily afford a new version of the broom he this one was special to him, had been with him through thick and thin—he had named it Reggie). His broom felt almost like an extension of his body. No one had ever pressured him into Quidditch, but playing the sport had seemed natural to him after his first time on a broom at the age of four. It had been a little kid’s version of a random Nimbus model. He remembered how amazing and scary it had felt when he pushed off and hovered a few feet off the ground, the broom was designed and magicked to only fly a few feet. He had flown around the backyard pitch his father had made. He remembered pushing that broom to fly as fast as he could get it, he remembered trying to urge it to fly higher. He was five years old when his parents decided to give up on the illusion that they could keep him any lower to the ground, and he got his first real broom, and it was big. Almost too big for him, but he practiced hard with it every chance he got. And every chance that Papa was home from a match, he would be out back with Jack, urging him to try over and over, to fly higher and harder and it was fun in the backyard. He felt as if his Papa really loved him in those moments, and they were magical in a way that magic never could be.

And then Jack joined his first Quidditch team. Everyone insisted that he play Beater, just like his Papa. And Jack wanted to at first, and he did pretty good at it. But flying fast and catching the Quaffle, dodging the Bludgers, weaving between the other players, and trying to score looked a lot more fun. There was also a tiny voice in his head that whispered if he was a Chaser, maybe people would stop comparing him to Bad Bob and just let him be. It had not worked the way he had imagined, people still wanted to compare him to his Papa, but Jack fell in love with the sport all over again once he got his hands on a Quaffle and convinced his coaches to just please let him try his hand as a Chaser. There was no going back after that.

He preferred chasing, but there had been occasions during practices and scrimmages among the teams he had played on, that he would have to pick up the Beaters bat once more. He always felt a little funny as he grew accustomed to holding the bat, the muscles of his hands and fingers, seeming to know what to do after a few seconds. It always felt as if he was revisiting some version of himself that he could have been. Today, standing in the pitch with the early morning light shining on the damp grass, he was once again struck by that feeling. He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye as Eric finally joined him at the pitch.

“Eric,” Jack said, hoping his voice sounded normal.

“Jack,” Eric said, his voice full of sleep despite the brisk walk to the pitch in the cool morning.

“We are going to use real practice Bludgers today,” Jack explained, “the ones that Beaters typically use to practice on.”

They were magicked slightly different from the Bludgers used in real matches and scrimmages. These ones responded to whistles and would fly hard at over whistled. Beaters used them to practice their reflexes and aims. To get used to how jarring of a sensation it was for the iron ball to hit the bat, how it could ring up your entire arm if you did not have a proper grip. Jack noticed that Eric was staring at the bat in Jack’s hand, looking pale.

For the past few weeks, they had stuck to just using the Dodge balls, and that was working. Eric was flying more freely during these morning practices. He had no fear of the rubber balls hitting him. He and Jack had taken to practicing with a Quaffle between the two of them, learning each other’s movements on their brooms and in the air. Eric always seemed to be just where Jack needed him to be, in order to either assist with a score or score himself. They worked seamlessly together, hardly ever needing to vocalize with each other what they needed. Or they needed to be. It was exhilarating. It made Jack love the sport even more and he was anxious for Bittle to be able to play with him for real, to get on the line with him. Then they could work together with their third chaser. But… to do this he needs Bittle to stop fearing the Bludger.

“With these Bludgers,” Jack found himself explaining when he realized Eric was not going to say anything, “they respond to a whistle. I will have you whistle and it will fly at you, hard. But I promise, Bittle… that I will beat it away from you before it gets to you.” Just like Ransom and Holster would try to in a game. Luckily for Jack and Bittle with this practice, there would only be on Bludger and one person for Jack to protect and he knew he could do it.

“Um… Okay,” Eric finally spoke up, his voice no longer sounding tired. Jack could hear the fear in it, and it tugged at his heart. Jack had half the mind to cancel their practice, or maybe go fetch the dodge balls but he watched Eric, and Eric had a determined expression on his face.

“Let me know when you are ready,” Jack said quietly, bending down to unlatch the box that held the practice Bludger. It laid there, not trying to escape the straps that held it in. He unlatched the straps and picked the ball up, feeling the cool iron against his hands, and he set it down on the grass. Then he picked up that Beater bat once more, and his broom. He mounted it, adjusting his grip on both the broom handle and the bat. His thighs would do most of the work in maintaining his grip on the broom as he would be flying one-handed. He pushed up into the air and hovered a few feet above the ground.

Eric finally moved, picking up his own broom, and taking a steadying breath. Jack watched as he mounted it and then pushed off the ground with strong legs. He hovered just to the right of Jack. Silence filled the air, and it felt thick with too much anticipation.

“I am ready, Jack.”

Jack whistled. sharp and loud. The Bludger reacted quickly and flew hard at Jack, ignoring Eric completely, but Jack can tell that Eric did not notice. He thought he heard a whimper of sorts escape the blond man. The Bludger was almost on Jack before he whacked it away, and in that time, he noticed Eric slip from his broom. Jack dropped the beater bat, and managed to whip his wand out—his reflexes quick after so many years of needing to be—and he shouted a spell.

Then Eric hit the ground, but the impact was softer than it would have been without the spell. Jack could hardly remember flying down to the ground himself, vaguely aware that Eric’s broom had crashed into the Keeper’s post. Thank Merlin they had not been that high up, thank Merlin Jack had been able to get his wand out, and cushion Eric’s fall.

“Bitty! Are you okay?” Jack asked, crouching down him.

Bittle is staring at him, seemingly unseeingly, and then hugging onto Jack tightly. His body shaking with what Jack knew to be sobs. Stunned, unsure of what to do, but knowing that touch can sometimes be grounding, Jack wrapped his arms around Bitty. Tight. His hands acting independently of his rather frazzled brain and rubbing circles on it, patting. Time loses all meaning and eventually, Eric pulled away, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

“Bitt—Eric, I am so sorry,” Jack said in a rush, knowing that this was all his fault. His heart still racing from the sight of Eric falling from his broom, of Eric freezing up like that. Jack had let his own selfish desire to win matches and be better on the Pitch overcloud his judgment. It was not the first time he found himself wondering if perhaps he ought not be the Captain of the Samwell’s Quidditch Team.

“No, no. I-… I’m sorry,” Eric managed to get out. His voice was shaky with emotion.

“We can stop for today,” Jack found himself say, his arms tugging Eric closer to his body once more. Some part of him immensely grateful when he doesn’t feel Eric tense or pull away.

“Can we go to Annie’s?” Jack wondered, briefly, if he misheard what Eric just said.

The smaller man is no longer crying, but Jack is aware that his own shirt is damp from the tears. He has a determined expression on his face once more.

“Annie’s? Eh, okay.” Jack’s own heart had stopped racing. The rest of his body had begun to come down from the adrenaline rush as well. He can’t push the feeling of how nice it was to have Eric in his arms away, either. EVen if the circumstances were awful.

“I think I need to tell you why.. what happened back at Ilvermorny,” Eric explained, pushing himself to to his feet unsteadily. Jack looked up at him, dumbly, before hastily climbing to his own feet. “Maybe if I talk about it… maybe it will help. I don’t think it can make anything worse,” Eric said, sad and determined.

All Jack could do was nod. The two of them packed up their belongings, and headed down to Annie’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like the ending is a tad abrupt, but the next chapter will have Eric opening up and explaining things. Hopefully, the final chapter, will see the boys succeeding.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://omgshittyplz.tumblr.com) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/mamashitty) :)


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